Street Kid
by Nicole Harpe
Summary: Sam leaps back before his birth again, but this time Al's life is on the line.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please do not read this story if you are easily disturbed by raw language and difficult situations for children. This story is not for the squeamish. It is based on activity that I know about from close associates. Nothing is written to be sensational, but only to bring to light a troubling situation facing many children today here in the United States. It is for mature readers only for a reason.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.

STREET KID

The leap was over. Time traveler Sam Beckett had completed his mission successfully. The car accident killing the family of four in the Black Hills had been averted. There was only one thing that seemed odd about it. Admiral Al Calavicci, his Observer from the future, usually hung around until he leaped out, but this time, Al was nowhere to be found. The blue glow of a leap surrounded Sam and he entered that unknown state for that unknown period of time. He finally landed at his next assignment and he had to smile.

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Sam liked to leap into kids. Their problems were usually not big deals, but just a little beyond the coping skills of a young person, so he really felt satisfied when solving a crisis with his adult thought processes. This was the first time he had leaped directly into school though. He was sitting in the back row of a classroom and by the look of the haircuts around him circa the early '50s. The children were 16 or 17 years old, all boys, all dressed in navy pants, white shirts and dark ties. The pretty nun writing at the blackboard clinched it for certain. This wasn't just a school. It was a Catholic boys' high school. He would really need Al this time. Dr. Sam Beckett had been raised farm belt Methodist, not urban Catholic like his best friend, Admiral Al Calavicci.

He glanced around the room at the other boys, most of whom were trying to understand the structure of the molecular compound the nun wrote on the board. On the far side of the room one boy was doodling. A tough looking little guy in the second row stared out the window paying absolutely no attention to the lecture or the teacher. Another boy in the seat next to Sam was barely awake. Sam was comforted in knowing if he got called on at least he'd know the answer. This was easy stuff for a five time PhD and MD. Now, if he only knew his name. The thought crossed his mind to check the inside of the book opened in front of him. Yep, there it was, Joseph O'Brien and an address somewhere in Manhattan, New York. The lovely angel-faced nun started asking questions, the kind of questions teenaged Sam Beckett loved to talk about, but he wasn't sure about Joseph, so when pretty Sister What-a-waste asked for responses, he didn't raise his hand. A few boys volunteered, but were wrong. The nun walked to the desk of the tough little guy. She put her hand on his shoulder. The kid didn't flinch. The rest of the class heard him sigh loudly in incredible and highly dramatic boredom. Sam wanted to laugh, but he kept quiet. The nun asked the boy, "Do you have an answer?"

The little guy in the second row turned slowly to face the board, rattling off the compound's properties in a dull, uninterested voice, but he was right and even went beyond the initial question, probably because he didn't hear the question. The other boys cringed in their seats letting Sam know that the smart-aleck was the class brain and obvious outsider. From the look of him, he probably skipped a year or two. Sam stopped in the middle of his thoughts, his mouth dropping open. It was the early '50s. This little grade-jumper was tough, smart, skinny, curly-haired and living in Manhattan. Sam spoke a little too loudly, "Oh, boy." The class laughed.

A crimson blush flooded Sam's face. The nun looked at him with daggers, "You have something to say, Joey?"

'No sister. He's right." The class laughed again.

"Damn right I am, but how would you know?" The boys all continued to laugh. The tough little guy turned around and glared at Sam. It was the Admiral, probably at age 13 or 14. It was a bit of a stretch to see the adult Al in this cherubic-faced boy, but it was him. How many times had Sam seen those eyes give him that same look?

The pretty nun stopped them all short, "Alberto, after school, the detention room." Al didn't respond in any way. It seemed this was not his first trip.

The half asleep boy next to Sam whispered, "Smart ass little dago is getting detention again."

The bell rang and the boys all stampeded out of the classroom. He watched as the little guy pushed his way through the other boys despite the fact they did their best to get in his way. Sam smiled and thought to himself, "This is a future astronaut?" He tried to catch up with Al. As he did, he said, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything."

"So I get to stay after school. It's better than the orphanage," and he took off up a flight of stairs.

Al's comment made Sam's heart sink. He always had odd feelings about Al's childhood since his friend never brought it up on purpose. Then he suddenly realized he had to go to his next class and he didn't know what or where it was. A familiar whooshing sound made him turn. He figured the look on Al's face would be priceless. It probably would have been, except this guy was dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit with an appropriate regimental-striped tie.

In clipped English speech he began, "Good day, Sam. You're in St. Patrick's Catholic Preparatory School for Boys in Manhattan. It's Thursday, March 11, 1948. You leaped before your birth again. We still can't quite figure how you do that."

In a dazed voice, Sam flatly said, "Probably a result of the simo-leap."

The man continued, "Your name is Joseph O'Brien, but everyone calls you Joey. You're not exactly the big man on campus, but you're not at the bottom of the list either. That honor apparently goes to the little Italian boy in your class." Sam was just staring at him, "What's wrong?" Then the phrase finally hit him, "And what's a simo-leap?"

Sam paused and still staring he asked, "Who are you?"

"Oh, no. Not again? Your memory is scrambled eggs."

"Swiss cheese, not scrambled eggs." He wanted an answer, "Who are you?"

"Edward St. John V. Do you remember the Project?"

He had to think a second. "Yeah, usually, but I don't know you at all. Where's Al?"

Now it was St. John's turn to want answers rather than give them. "Who's Al?"

"The Project Administrator."

"I'm the administrator of Quantum Leap. I don't know any Al."

"The little Italian kid is Al."

"Right." Gazing into the handlink he stammered, "Alberto Michelangelo Calavikki. That is quite a remarkable name for such a little boy."

Using good Italian pronunciation and gesticulation, learned from Al, Sam corrected him, "Calaveechee. He's the real Project Administrator."

"The boy with the chip on his shoulder?" He punched a key or two and seemed surprised. "Hm, he'll be 14 in two months. Not a very big child."

Sam had no use for chitchat. "Listen to me. I don't know you. You're not the Project Administrator. Al Calavicci is. Now something had to have happened. I must be here to change something for Al so that he becomes the Project Administrator instead of you. What am I supposed to do to make this right?"

St. John was hurt and in no mood to discuss Al. "What are you talking about? I have been the Project Administrator since the very beginning. Now, you tell me you want to change the future so that I don't have a part in this?"

The man looked genuinely wounded. Sam didn't mean to minimize the man's commitment, but "You're not supposed to be here. I don't know you. I have never seen you before in my life."

"I'm not sure what to say, Samuel. I know we talked about the potential for something like this to occur, but I never thought it would. It's a bit disconcerting." St. John started playing with the handlink. "I'm going to go work on this with Alpha." The Imaging Chamber door opened and St. John began to disappear.

Sam called out, "Wait, what's up with Al?"

St. John's hand flew to his mouth in shock. "Oh my, how could I ignore the welfare of a child? I am so sorry." He sighed at his error. "Let me check." The handlink was accessed. "Dear me, he runs away from the orphanage where he lives. So far that's all I can find. I promise you, I'll work on getting more information. We never let children down, Sam. Never." St. John left Sam alone.  
Sam knew that in his childhood Al had run away often, but something must be incredibly wrong if Sam was sent to help. The only words that came to him were, "Damn. Damn, Damn."

A priest replete in cassock touched his shoulder, "Joseph, why are you using that language?"

Looking into the old man's face Sam felt a chill. "I don't know, Father."

"Go to your next class, Mr. O'Brien."

"Yes, Father, but I don't know where my next class is."

"Open your notebook to your schedule and refresh your memory. Understood?"

"Yes, Father."

"See me after school in detention. Maybe you'll learn not to blaspheme."

"Detention? Me, sir?" Detention, thank God for bad language.

"Yes, sir. You." The priest made his way down the hall.

Sam was pretty happy about getting detention. It meant an opportunity to meet up with Al. He checked his notebook, found out he needed to go to English class in room 245. Looking up at the door nearest him he saw number 247. "You lucked out, Beckett." and he ran to the next door down, slipped into class and then realized he didn't know where to sit. "Oh, boy."

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Thirteen-year-old Al Calavicci already had a harder life than people three, four, five times his age. He knew anger and heartache from his earliest days. He and his sister Trudy lived with their parents in Manhattan's Little Italy. He loved his sister more than life and fought his fair share of fights defending her. Unlike her brilliant older brother Trudy was born with Down syndrome. Al's father wanted to keep Trudy at home with the family. Al wanted that too, but his mother had a hard time dealing with this imperfect reflection of herself.

The night his mother ran off with another man was permanently etched in Al's memory. He pleaded with his mother to stay, but the words of the seven-year-old didn't hold much stock and in the heat of a New York summer, she left him alone with Trudy. Their father, as usual, was out of town on a construction job.

Six days later, when Vincenzo Calavicci returned, he found his home clean and neat and his wife gone. Al and Trudy barely survived on the little food their mother purchased before she left. Big brother "Allie" fed his sister, bathed and toileted her, dressed her, read to her, held her when she cried for her mommy and waited until she was asleep before he permitted his own tears to fall.

Vince tried to provide a home for his two special children, but he was not used to being a father. When an extraordinary offer for work in the Middle East turned up, he thought he was doing his kids a favor by leaving them behind, but what little extended family they had was unwilling to take a troublesome pair like Trudy and Al, "a retard and a smart mouth." There was no other choice in Vince's mind. The job was not going to wait and he had to go. That meant placing his children in St. Paul's Home for Orphans.

Al remembered packing his and Trudy's belongings into two small cases. Not even one of their few toys was allowed, just articles of clothing. Al insisted on carrying the cases himself. The betrayal he felt with his father's decision was too great. Despite hours of explanations, he couldn't understand why his father was leaving them again. With too much maturity for one at his tender young age, Al promised Trudy he'd never leave her. Their parents might not care, but he did. Vincenzo told his son not to cry and he didn't. The boy figured he cried enough when his mother left.

His father promised that life would get better, but just like outside the orphanage walls, Trudy was ridiculed and made the butt of ugly practical jokes. Three weeks after they arrived at the orphanage he and Trudy experienced, for the first time, the monthly parade of prospective adoptive parents. Despite Al's outrage, Trudy was locked in the basement so no one would see "the dummy." Al waited until the reception area was filled with visitors and then beat on the bolted door leading downstairs and screamed "Let my sister out! Let her out!" Al was dragged out of the room kicking and still screaming. The entire scene was an embarrassment Mother Theodora never forgot or forgave. When the couples left, Trudy and Al both were locked in the basement for 24 hours without meals. It was a childhood humiliation that helped create a very angry man.

Three long years later, Al's father returned to New York and tried to reestablish a home for his family. A new house was bought, their new castle, but it was a castle in the air. A fast, aggressive, incurable cancer quickly killed their dream. Vince died and his children were again given over to a system that paid only lip service to caring.

When they reached the orphanage, Al was completely unprepared. Trudy was going to Willowbrook Institution for the Mentally Ill. Al knew his sister couldn't live a happy life without him and he had promised never to leave her, but now that promise was about to be broken, "No! Don't take her from me! I'll go with her! She needs me!"

Al's sister cried for her only friend. "Trudy want Allie! Allie no go!" Her anguish tore Al's big brother heart into pieces that would never fully heal and Trudy was dragged off screaming his name. It was a torment Al had nightmares about for years.

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Sam got through English. He hated diagramming sentences when he was a kid and as it turned out, he still hated it. The bell rang announcing his freedom and his final class of the day, gym. He was ready to play and this was ideal. Chuckie Lynch, in great perplexity, told him where the gym was located and Sam happily made his way down the steps and the long corridor to the locker room. Finding his name taped on the outside of his locker helped, but the combination on the small door had him stymied. There was no way he could get in. He was staring at the lock when Al entered. "Close your mouth, O'Brien. You look like a damned guppy."

He had to play the role, so he said, "What's your problem?"

"You! Forget your combination again?" Sam looked sheepish. "14 left, 25 right, 6 left."

Sam followed the instructions and the lock popped open, "How did you know?"

"You're the one who started calling me Al the Pick."

Sam cringed and whispered, "Sorry."

He, Al and the other boys dressed for gym. Finally Sam got a chance to see himself in a mirror. Joey O'Brien was an average looking kid with kind of a sweet face. He stood out in only one respect. He was big, not fat, but tall and husky, the kind of kid high school football coaches love.

Today's activity was gymnastics. Sam had always been good at team sports, basketball and baseball especially. The individual sports were less successful for him and this boy whom he inhabited was not particularly built for high bar routines.

The boys flew to the equipment with the trampoline being the favorite. Al moved toward the horse. Sam thought, "Figures. The hardest apparatus to work." The coach blew his whistle and the boys gathered around him, all except Al who still moved toward the horse. He stood next to it and listened from afar. The boys got their assignments. Sam was smiling. Joey was assigned to Al's group.

Sam watched his best friend and just like chemistry class, this was Al's domain. Sam watched him mount the horse and do a routine the older boys couldn't compete with. Al moved onto the bar, the rings, then the trampoline and finally tumbling. Sam was amazed at his grace. The rest of the class was merely annoyed, but Al focused so intently on mastering the art that their sneers weren't even noticed. Sam was seeing in this teen young an excellent mind, uncanny concentration and the survival skills he'd need 15 years down the line when viciously incarcerated for eight years in Vietnam.

Another bell and the end of the day came with the memory that he had detention. Sam showered, watched as the older boys either ignored the future astronaut or made bullying remarks. If they only knew what the kid was going to accomplish. Al paid no notice to any of them. He simply showered, dressed and made his way out of the locker room. Sam called to him, "Hey, Alberto, wait up." He ran to Al's side, "I got detention, too."

They walked together in silence. Al finally mumbled, "Don't call me Alberto."

"Okay, if you say so."

Another minute passed, "So, O'Brien, what did they get you for?"

Sam grinned, "Blaspheming." He saw the left corner of Al's mouth turn up, a typical Al smile, so he went on, "I said 'damn' and Father Somebody got all bent out of shape."

"They're always bent out of shape. I think it's the dresses" Al opened a classroom door, went in and Sam shadowed him, sitting down in the desk next to Al's. Six other boys were already there and scattered throughout the room. Al looked annoyed, "You following me?"

Sam shook his head, "No. I just don't like detention too much."

"You're not supposed to like it." Al had the same sarcastic tone in this voice that Sam had heard how many times before. "It's detention, stupid."

They sat there for half an hour. The purpose was supposedly to make the boys study, but Sam kept glancing at Al's paper. He was drawing and to Sam's increasing wonderment he discovered Al's talent for art. That was something he'd completely forgotten.

The 30 minutes flew by and the prisoners were released. "Hey, Al. Got a second?"

"For what?"

"I'll walk home with you." Al just grunted. Sam kept up the conversation, "I saw what you were drawing." There was no response. "It looked cool. What was it?"

Young Al didn't know what to make of this boy who had suddenly befriended him. It had been a long time since any of the boys sought his company. Joey was an okay kid. Not the brightest guy, but few, if any, at the school were actually in his league. He wouldn't trust Joey, but talking might be okay. "It was a set design."

Sam was clueless. "What's that?"

Al looked at him with the same look he used when Sam said something really dumb. "When you do a play, you have to make a set. I draw sets."

"For whom?"

"Whom? You're using the English language correctly. What happened?"

"We had to diagram sentences today. I guess it's a holdover." Sam wanted to know more about the set designs. "Was that for a real show?"

"I just do them to waste time." He squinted at Joey. "Why the sudden interest in theater? You haven't worked on any of the school plays."

"You do?" Sam was surprised to hear that young Al was involved in any extra curricular activities.

"Geez, do you pay attention to anything other than hockey? Yeah, I did the stage design for 12 Angry Men last year. The lighting was mine, too."

"Sounds like you like the theater a lot. Ever think of going into acting?"

With a candor that surprised himself, Al admitted his love of the theater. "Sometimes. I think it could be okay."

"You know, I was thinking."

Smart aleck Al was back. "How did it feel?"

"Ha-ha. Come on, Al. I want to ask you a favor." The boy raised his eyebrows in a typically older Al fashion and Sam continued, "You're real smart in chemistry. I'm not. Would you help me study, you know, after school?"

"You want help in chemistry? Bill Mason is good in chemistry, almost good as me and I thought he was your friend."

Thinking fast was getting to be old hat for Sam. He immediately came out with, "Well, see, that's part of it. I don't want him to think I'm stupid."

The cynical throaty laugh Sam heard so often was already there. Al shook his head. "I got to tell you, if you're seen with me, you'll be called worse things than stupid. Hanging around the runt, wop bastard isn't the best move for your class standing."

Sam's heart melted for this young boy. His own teen years were incredibly easy considering his genius lQ and having to deal with his brother's death, but Tom didn't die. Al gave up five years of freedom to save him. If Al didn't become project director, Tom would be dead again. The complete ramifications of this leap were just beginning to sink in. It wasn't only Al being changed. It was every leap Sam had ever taken. St. John was a good person, but he wasn't the same kind of man. He turned to his future friend, "Listen, I want to get to know you better."

There was nothing in their history that would have made Joey want to be with him. Al had to ask, "Why?"

"Because I think . . ." He paused to try and come up with a plausible answer and then decided on the truth, "Someday you're going to be important and I want to be able to say I knew you when we were kids."

"Einstein says, 'Imagination is more important than intelligence.' I got to say that if you think I'm going to be important, then you got the imagination stuff down cold."

"I'm serious. There's something about you that's special."

Now he really thought O'Brien was yanking his chain. "Get lost, Joey." Al ran out the school's main entrance and continued running in the steady gait Sam found familiar, but at this particular time, strangely uncomforting. Al was going to run away. He wanted more information and the only person who could give it to him was Edward St. John V.

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	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please do not read this story if you are easily disturbed by raw language and difficult situations for children. This story is not for the squeamish. It is based on activity that I know about from close associates. Nothing is written to be sensational, but only to bring to light a troubling situation facing many children today here in the United States. It is for mature readers only for a reason.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.

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STREET KID

Al jogged through Manhattan at a steady pace. The New York streets were dirty and the sky was covered grey, kind of like the life young Al was leading. He noticed everything around him and could draw diagrams of each neglected alley and side street. It was a special skill that would come to serve him greatly later in his life. He flew past the Jewish delicatessens, past the Irish pubs, down toward the Italian section, the poor Italian section where Saint Paul's Home for Orphans was located. He stared at the building from a full block away. He hated it there, but it had been home off and on for nearly seven years now, half his young life.

At 13, he was one of the older children at St. Paul's. Infants were often adopted. Even the young ones had a chance for a home, but beyond the age of four or five, hope was almost always gone. Most of the boys, when they reached 12 or 13, ran away or joined the seminary. As for the seminary, Al knew he was no priest and that wouldn't happen. Running away was initially his way out. Just after his 10th birthday, a month after the death of his father, Al tried to leave the orphanage behind. It took six days, but he found himself living with a pool shark named Black Magic Walters. It was a great time for the child, but a stunningly beautiful little white boy living with an old black man caught the eyes of the cops and Magic was arrested presumably for playing pool in a whites only pool hall. The boy was sent back to St. Paul's and rather than welcoming home the Prodigal Son, the 10-year-old suffered hateful punishment from Mother Theodora. In front of the other children, each Monday evening for two months, the palms and backs of his hands were slapped hard with a ruler. He was forced to eat dinner at a table alone. Reverend Mother tried to shame him, to make him believe he had no place in the world except the place she decided. The effect was opposite. It did nothing but give him more resolve to show her she was wrong.

There was one nun at the orphanage, Sister Benignus, who saw special qualities in the little fellow. She was able to help him realize the orphanage provided him with something he couldn't get if he was on the streets alone, an education. With her help, he could graduate from high school and maybe, just maybe, if he kept his straight A average, win a college scholarship. He knew he was smart enough. The problem wasn't classes. The problem was the sad aching in his gut that left him empty with his only hope being shadows of dreams for an education and for a life with his sister.

He entered the austere dark building that was his residence; he felt "home" was the wrong word. Sister Benignus was coming down the hall. "Alberto, where have you been?"

"At school."

"There were no extracurricular activities today. Why are you late?"

Lying to Sister Benignus was never an option because he didn't care - much. "I got detention for calling a kid dumb-ass in chemistry."

Sister Benignus was not pleased with the answer. "Why do you do these things? Come with me."

They made their way down the corridor to the chapel. Secretly, Sister Benignus admired his stubborn streak of pride. It was the thing that would let Alberto make something of himself despite his unsettled early life. She stopped at the front pew and pointed for him to go in, which he did. "Now, I want you to pray the rosary to apologize to the Lord for your misconduct today."

"I don't have my rosary with me."

She pulled a string of black beads from her pocket. "I thought that might happen. I stopped by your bed stand and picked it up for you." He took the rosary from her hand, "On your knees, sir."

Since the chapel had no padded kneelers like the church next door, he had to suffer the marble flooring on his bony joints, He looked up at the good sister, but she wasn't going to let him out of this additional detention. Truth was, Sister Benignus was on his side and he knew it. She gave him books, plays, encouraged his studies and interest in the theater, told him he was smart, too smart to be in trouble all the time. This rosary was to teach him that being a smart aleck in school wasn't worthy of him. It was not a lesson he learned easily. This had to be the fourth rosary he'd been forced to say this month.

Al got on his knees and began praying. Sister Benignus whispered, "I'll come get you before dinner. Don't let your mind wander too much." The kind sister didn't realize his dark side. She thought his pranks at school were simply teenage hi-jinks. Not even Sister Benignus knew the depths of despair he felt at being the perpetual outsider.

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Sam was walking home. Actually, he was wandering through the city hoping to come across the street he lived on. In other leaps, when he was confused, Al usually showed up with a bit of information, but Al didn't exist in this reality. Well, Admiral Calavicci didn't. Sam's head ached. He stopped walking, looked around at the foreign country of Manhattan, "Where am I?"

A voice from beyond answered, "About eight blocks from where you live. You need to turn around." St. John had returned.

"Where the hell have you been?"

With petulance St. John sneered, "Did you talk to Al like that?"

"Always. Get me, I mean, Joey home. My . . . his parents are probably worried." They walked along the streets. Sam continued, "You got any more information on Al?"

"Not much. He disappears from the orphanage tomorrow after school."

"Check the enrollment records for Annapolis. He went there for undergraduate school and check MIT. He got his advanced degrees there, a Masters in Electrical Engineering and another in Quantum Mechanics. His PhD is in Astrophysics. He got that after he came home from Vietnam in 1975."

St. John looked puzzled. "1975? American troops were all repatriated earlier than that."

Sam didn't need the reminder. "Not Al. He didn't come home until '75."

Shaking his head, St. John attested, "No one came back from Vietnam after 1973."

"Al did. He helped me save my brother's life and it cost him five years as MIA."

"I'm sorry, but your brother died stepping on a land mine, Sam."

Things were getting all skewed, "No. Tom was killed trying to free American soldiers. Al was one of them. Check his military records. He was a graduate of Annapolis and in the late '70s and early '80s he was an astronaut. He walked on the moon. On the way home, the module lost half its power and he brought it and the crew back in one piece. He got more press than I did for the Nobel Prize. And you're telling me he doesn't exist?"

St. John played with the handlink for a few minutes, "Sam, there is no record of an Alberto Calavicci at Annapolis or NASA. There are no Navy records for him at all." Still playing with the handlink, St. John's face dropped, "Alpha just broke into the New York Times computers. There's a reason why young Mr. Calavicci doesn't get to Vietnam." There was a decided attitude change. Quietly he revealed, "He runs away tomorrow and then he's found on Sunday, barely alive. He dies the following Thursday of his wounds."

"Wounds?" Sam felt a rush of fear and adrenalin. Al was going to die if he didn't succeed in keeping him from running away. "How does he die?"

St. John pushed a few more buttons, "You're not going to like this."

"No kidding."

The new administrator closed his eyes against the horror his handlink described. "He's kidnapped off the streets after he runs away. Some bullies beat him up and then try to kill him. They botch it and he gets away from them, but not until they stab him repeatedly." St. John pushed a button on the handlink, "Sam, I hate this. He's just a boy. They try to slit his throat."

"Oh my God. Do they get the bastards who did it?"

"No one is ever charged. The boy lapses into a coma right after the police find him. He never wakes up. Sorry, Sam. This is a bad one. I don't have any more information for you. I really am sorry about your friend." Seeing Sam's distress and having nothing more to say, St. John decided to exit, "Go north for three more blocks and then east and you'll be home in no time. I'll try to get more information," and the Imaging Chamber swallowed him up and Sam was alone again.

He had too much to think about on his walk home, things like Al's death. He didn't like this leap.

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Al was still on his knees, rosary in his hand when Sister Benignus came back into the chapel. She watched him for almost a minute. She was the only adult around that he trusted. She taught him the power of concentration and focus. It was a lesson he chose to learn well and would thank her for all his life, if he lived beyond the next few days.

"Dinner in five minutes. Let's put your books away and you can change out of your school uniform."

For Sister Benignus' sake and also wishing he actually had real faith to believe in prayer, he made the sign of the cross with the crucifix, kissed the image of Jesus and put the beads in his pocket. "Does Reverend Mother know I got detention?"

"You know Father McManus calls every time you get detention."

He gathered his books, "Why does he do that? She'll make me go to confession. I hate that."

It seemed pretty obvious to her. "Then don't do anything that gets you detention."

"I'll have to serve mass, too."

With a teasing overdramatic voice she said, "Oh, such terrible punishment. Serving mass, how cruel." They left the chapel and started down the hollow sounding corridor.

"Yeah, I know. It's no big deal." They turned the corner going toward the dormitory. "Sister, there's this boy at school. He wants me to help him study chemistry, but I don't want him to come here. Do you think Reverend Mother would allow me to go to his house? His name is Joey O'Brien. He lives in the good flats on the other side of school."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

The question caught Al off guard. He hadn't considered anyone a friend. "He leaves me alone mostly. I guess that means he's a friend."

Sister Benignus sighed and shook her head, "Oh, Alberto, is that how you define a friend?"

"I don't know," and they went into Al's dormitory. She sat on a cot across from his and watched him take out his other uniform, a tee shirt with St. Paul's Home for Orphans across the left breast.

"Alberto, have a seat."

"I'll be late for dinner."

"Don't worry about it. I want to talk to you. Sit down." He sat very straight on the cot, figuring he was going to get chewed out for something or other that he forgot about. "You don't have to look like that. You're not in trouble."

He hunched his shoulders. "You never know."

She laughed, "Alberto, don't you know how blessed you are? God has given you great talent and a most extraordinary mind."

"And the body of a ten year old."

"You're small, but you'll grow. I don't think you'll ever be very big, but give yourself a chance. The true measure of a man isn't height. Alberto, you are a remarkable boy, but you have a great lesson to learn. You have to learn to trust. This boy Joey sounds like he's reaching out to you for help. That means he trusts your judgment and respects your skills. Don't turn away. Now, change your clothes. I'll tell Reverend Mother that I detained you."

Al watched her leave the dorm. He pulled off the clip-on tie and white shirt that identified with St. Patrick's, and pulled over his head the tee shirt that branded him a St. Paul orphan. He hated all the brands he wore because they separated him from other kids. More than life itself, he wanted to be just one of the guys, a normal kid, but he also knew some things were never to be.

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Sam found his apartment building. It was one of the more expensive places around. He took the elevator to his floor, found apartment number 603 and tried the door. It was locked. There was no choice, but to ring the bell. A little girl answered, "You're in trouble now, Joey. Mom expected you home right after your detention!" She stuck her tongue out at him and ran inside. From the living room he heard his mother calling, "Joseph Kevin Fitzpatrick O'Brien, come here please, now."

This kid had more names than anyone ever needed. If Mom was using them all, then he was in big, big trouble. He put his books on the table in the foyer and walked to the voice. A pretty woman sat at a writing table in the corner.

"Why are you so late from school?" Sam confessed Joey's detention. "So I hear. Father McManus called. Joey, you have never gotten a detention before in your life. Why now?"

"It was no big deal, Mom, really. I just sort of swore a little. Nothing really bad."

"Go change and start your homework now, young man. Your father will be home around six which means you have at least an hour of time at the books before dinner. Then you can spend the rest of the evening with those books because you will not watch television or listen to the radio tonight. Got it?"

"Yes Ma'am." Sam stood there.

She stared at him. "You have something to say?"

"Mom, I know this kid. He's really smart. I mean really smart. I'd like to ask him over tomorrow after school to study, is that okay?"

"Who is this genius?"

"His name is Al Calavicci."

"Isn't he the charity case from the Italian orphanage?" Sam hated the description, but he simply nodded. His mother went on, "It just galls me. We pay a lot of money for your tuition and he's there for free."

Sam defended his friend. "But mom, he's an orphan. He doesn't have anyone to pay tuition for him. I like him. He's funny and really smart."

She smiled at Joey, "Okay, anything to get you to study. You can invite him to dinner, if you'd like. He probably hasn't had a home cooked meal in a long time."

"Thanks, Mom!" He gave her a peck on the cheek, ran out of the room and down the hall hoping to find his room without too much trouble.

His mother called after him, "Start your homework and don't let your sister in your room. She's in hot water, too."

Sam saw a "Do Not Enter" sign and figured that was his place. He burst into the room and he had called it right.

A small desk was cluttered with papers and teenage boy stuff. Joey's mother wanted him to do his homework so he thought he'd start. A spot was cleared off and Sam opened the books he'd brought home. Checking his assignments for the night, he saw he had algebra, chemistry, history and English. Having the chance to study was a rare treat, even if it was stuff he did at the age of eight.

A half hour passed and he was done with the math and chemistry. The trickiest part was getting enough of the work wrong to maintain Joey's standing as an average student. The door to his room opened and he turned to see a man standing there wearing a hospital coat with "Dr. O'Brien" stitched over the pocket. The resemblance to Joey was uncanny. "Hi, Dad. I'm just doing my homework here."

His father didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor. "Why didn't you do it in detention hall today? I hear Father McManus called about you being disrespectful. Is this true?"

Sam flashed back to his own father's tongue lashings. "I guess I said something I shouldn't have, but it wasn't a big deal. Really. I'm sorry."

"That makes it okay?"

"No, I won't do it again. It's just that this kid made me . . . I guess he made me frustrated and the word slipped out."

"Your mother also says you want to invite an orphan boy here tomorrow."

The array of references to his friend began to get on Sam's nerves. "His name is Al Calavicci. He's going to help me with my chemistry."

"Since he's coming to study and your mother gave you permission already I won't say no, but you're grounded this weekend. Understand?" Sam nodded. "Wash up. It's time for dinner."

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Meals at St. Paul's were served cafeteria style. Al came in late and nearly 100 pairs of eyes watched him go through the food line alone. His seat was open and he said nothing as he sat down to his cold dinner. The gray meat and congealed vegetables weren't very appealing. After a few bites, he put his fork down and waited for dismissal. Reverend Mother Theodora stood up for the final prayer. She surveyed the silent children and began, "I think tonight one of you will say our closing prayer. Alberto, you will lead us."

Despite knowing better, Al stood up slowly; so slowly that all understood his indifference to the request. He finally made the sign of the cross and began, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Our Father. . ." and the prayer continued with all joining the recitation. He sat down as slowly as he stood. His small act of rebellion wasn't lost on the Reverend Mother and her request that he see her after dinner was not unexpected.

The children filed out in an orderly fashion, leaving young Alberto behind to face whatever music Reverend Mother was going to play. The empty room held him and Reverend Mother, she at her table and he at his. She said nothing, simply waiting for him to come to her. He didn't. A full minute of defiance went by. Finally, "Alberto, come now."

When he arrived, she stood and began to walk out of the room. An unspoken command was made. He followed her to the office. They went inside and he closed the door behind them.

This woman struck fear into the hearts of all the children. She was quick with punishment and from his years of experience, usually it was painful. A wooden paddle on display was used on perpetrators of wrong. Unlike Sister Benignus and most of the other gentle and kind nuns, Theodora did not see gold in this recalcitrant boy. As far as she was concerned, he was simply one of the older ones setting a bad example for the younger ones. She addressed him, "Explain yourself."

He wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. "What do you mean, Reverend Mother?"

"Your behavior is out of hand." Al knew the best thing to do was keep his mouth shut, take the punishment and get another lesson in distrust. She started in on the litany of his latest sins. His penitent stance and facial expressions were all rehearsed and he turned them on and off at will. After all, he was an actor or at least he might like to be. It usually wasn't until the weapon was drawn that he started paying attention. Today, he was involved too deeply in his own thoughts and he wasn't expecting the weapon of choice to be Mother Theodora's hand. She viciously backhanded him across his face. The small teen reeled against the blow. The surprise hurt almost as much as the growing bruise on his under his eye. "You will listen to me. Do you understand?"

His attention was fully tuned into his persecutor, "Yes, Reverend Mother."

"I have been talking to Father McManus. He says you disrupt nearly every class you attend."

How could he tell her that he had some bad moments at school, but not nearly as many as McManus accused him of and that he didn't have to do much to get detention. Other boys got away with far more than he did, but they were the boys whose families could afford tuition. A smart, little Italian orphan that all grownups insisted on calling "Alberto" instead of "Al" didn't have a chance. Father McManus hated him and it was reciprocated, but being the bright boy he was Al immediately surrendered to the accusation, "If he says I do, then I guess I do."

"Alberto, next Monday, you are going to enter the seminary." He stared at her in disbelief. "I don't think you'll be much of a priest, but it will be a career for you and the discipline will do you good."

His worst fear was happening. "Reverend Mother, I'm not the kind of boy to be a priest."

"Don't you believe in the faith?"

He had sense enough to answer her question by changing the subject. "It takes a special kind of person to be a priest. I'm not that special."

"That's true. Sister Benignus keeps trying to tell me you are, but you have not shown it to me. The seminary will make a priest of you, special or not." She walked to the bookshelf behind her desk and took the wooden paddle down.

"But you already hit me," he said as he touched the purple mark she left on his cheekbone.

"Hands." and he held them out. Just like she had done when he was ten years old, she delivered five full blows to each palm. She ordered him, "Over" His eyes never left her face as he turned his hands knuckles up. She delivered another five blows to each hand and nothing more was said. She opened the door and invited him to leave.

Al put his hurt hands to his side, left the office and made his way back to the chapel. It was the only place where he could be alone. He entered the dimly lit room and walked to the front pew. Kneeling down, he clasped his hands in prayer and finally saw the damage. The skin was broken and blood still flowed from three gashes. The others already clotted dry. He whispered, "God, please get me away from here. Help me find Trudy so we can run away together. If you can't help me, then let me die, please. You can even send me to hell. It can't be worse than this." A drop of blood fell from his hands onto the floor, but still no tears fell from his eyes. "Why am I praying? You never listen to me. You don't care. You never did and you never will." Whispering in the kind of pain that comes from desperation he said, "Damn You. Damn everyone."

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	3. Chapter 3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please do not read this story if you are easily disturbed by raw language and difficult situations for children. This story is not for the squeamish. It is based on activity that I know about from close associates. Nothing is written to be sensational, but only to bring to light a troubling situation facing many children today here in the United States. It is for mature readers only for a reason.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.

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STREET KID

Sam got to school early the next morning. He wanted to find Al before classes started. Joey's mother said he could invite Al over to study and have dinner. He was looking forward to having Al try to teach him chemistry. Next time he met up with older Al, he'd have to remember to ask him about the studying and let him in on the secret. They'd have a good laugh, at least Sam would. He finally saw Al trotting toward school. There was a special kind of joy in seeing his friend at this age. As he drew closer Sam called out, "Al! Wait!" Al stopped and turned to the voice. Sam saw the bruise on the boy's face, "Wow, how did that happen?"

The young boy had almost forgotten the mark on his cheek, "I fell."

Sam knew a lie when he heard it, especially from Al, "That looks like someone hit you."

There was something about this Joey, this new Joey that Al trusted with things he never told anyone else and with a shrug that Sam knew well Al responded, "So, someone hit me. Big deal. It's not the first time."

Sam noticed the cuts and bruises on Al's hands, "Did someone do that to you, too?"

Well, he sorted of trusted him, "You a cop all of a sudden? I fell."

"You said you were hit."

"I'm a pathological liar. You want something, O'Brien?"

Sam was excited, "Yeah, my mom said I could ask you to come home with me after school and help me study. She said to invite you for dinner. Can you come?"

Since his future at the seminary was already determined, why not do what he wanted to do, "Yeah. Right after school. I'll see you in chem class." Al ran up the steps.

Sam threw both fists into the air. "Yes!" He was going to spend time with an adolescent Al. If the ramifications of failure weren't so frightening, he'd be even happier, but Al's life was on the line. Sam had to figure a way to keep Al from running away and that would be a lot easier if he knew why the little guy thought it necessary. Sam wanted more information.

The morning went by uneventfully. Joey had first lunch which meant at 11:15, Sam had the choice of a dried out hamburger or something that might have been chicken ala king. He opted for the burger and made his way to an empty table in a quiet part of the room. St. John popped in as he took his second bite. With his mouth full of meat he demanded, "Where have you been?"

"Did you talk to Mr. Calavicci like this?"

"It's Admiral Calavicci and yes." Another bite of burger and Sam mumbled, "Any more news on him? Do you know why he runs away?"

"We're not sure, but it may have to do with what we found in the newspaper reports. The nun that headed up the orphanage said the boy was supposed to enter the seminary the Monday after he was abducted. I must say, after looking at his school records and history, he's the last young man on earth that should be in a seminary."

"Finally! There's something that you and Al agree on."

"He has a history of running away. In fact, when he was ten, he was missing for four months."

"Black Magic Walters. He took care of Al. Taught him that people cared."

St. John stared at Sam. "This boy really is your friend, isn't he?" The look that St. John got from Sam answered the question far more eloquently than mere words. There was disappointment in St. John's voice, but his integrity was shining. "I believe you. Young Calavicci is the person destined to be the project administrator. The thing is, he's in trouble right now and since no one ever found out who kidnapped him, I can't give you much more than you already have."

Sam felt sorry for St. John. This man cared about his position at Quantum Leap, but even more important to him was maintaining Quantum Leap's mission. He wasn't going to put his own benefit ahead of making right that which was wrong. Admiration for St. John grew and Sam knew he had a true ally in the fight for Al's life.

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Young Al managed to get through the day without any major incidents. No detention, for a change. In truth, Al worked hard at not getting in trouble. He wanted to go to Joey's house and be free of the orphanage for a few extra hours. This was his last weekend of freedom and he didn't care what Mother Theodora did, Seminary was the last place he wanted to go and maybe, if he broke enough rules, even the seminary wouldn't want him around.

He and Sam ended their school day in the gym. The exercise made Al's bruised hands start to ache, but he wouldn't give in to the pain in his swollen knuckles. The final piece of equipment he attempted was the horse, Al's favorite and Sam's nemesis. By now, Al's hands were tired and sore. One of the gashes opened up a bit and he kept wiping blood away. "Al, maybe you should sit this one out. Your hand is bleeding."

"My hand is fine."

Sam stood back as Al approached the horse wiping his bleeding hand. The teen closed his fists around the pommels and pulled himself onto the apparatus. He began to rhythmically swing his legs around. A thin stream of blood trickled steadily from Al's open cut and his hand slipped while he was doing a release move. Al fell hard, his ribs bouncing against the pommel. He dropped to the floor, holding his side. One of the boys yelled, "Mr. McLean! Alberto fell!"

Sam ran to his friend's side. "Al? You okay?" The boy had the breath knocked out of him. He started to roll over. "Lie still. You might be hurt."

Air started to fill Al's lungs. "I'm fine. Let me up, Joey."

The coach arrived and took over. "You okay, Alberto?"

"Yeah." Coach McLean pulled up Al's shirt. A red bruise covered his right side.

He tried to stand, but Sam held him down. This was a way to keep Al alive. Sam would convince the coach that Al needed to go to the hospital. "I don't know, coach. That bruise looks pretty bad. I think he should go to the hospital. Maybe he broke a rib."

The coach touched the growing red mark on Al's body. "O'Brien may have a point, son. That's looks pretty ugly."

Al pulled his shirt back down. "I don't need a hospital."

"Let the school nurse decide that. O'Brien, you go with Alberto."

"Yes, sir. Come on, Al." Sam pushed Al in front of him.

They made their way into the locker room. Al was obviously not happy. Somehow Sam had to redeem himself in Al's eyes. Right now the kid had no use for him. Changed into their street clothes and outside the gym, Sam turned to his friend, "Great, let's go. They think we're with the nurse." He ran toward the exit, but didn't hear any feet behind him. Looking back he said, "Coming, Calavicci?" Al grinned wickedly, flew past Sam and out the door. Sam ran after. "Hey! Wait!"

They didn't stop until they were two blocks away. Al was Cheshire Cat smiling, "I didn't think you had it in you, O'Brien. You got potential."

"Yeah, well, it was the perfect out."

"Too bad it was gym. That's the one class I like."

Conversation was essential to making Al believe he had a friend in Joey. "How did you get so good at gymnastics?"

The boy shrugged, "I'm small. It's easy when you're small. Where do you want to go?"

Sam hadn't the foggiest notion. "I don't know. I've never ditched school before." That was the truth. Sam Beckett never ran out on class in his life.

Every kind of scam was rolling through Al's mind. "You hungry?"

Teenage boys are hungry all the time. "Sure. I could eat."

They walked through a busy section of lower Manhattan. Al's eyes darted around and Sam could see the boy making mental notes about all he saw. Sam was watching survival instincts and he paid close attention so he could learn. Al's gaze zeroed in on a pretzel vendor. He whispered. "You like hot pretzels?" Sam nodded even though he never had one in his life. "Okay. I'm going to run into the street next to the pretzel guy. I'll get hit by a car and you go grab the pretzels."

"Hit by a car? Are you nuts?"

Al looked at Sam as if he was the nutty one. "I'm going to fake it, stupid. I got the bruises, so it will work. If we're lucky, I could get us some big bucks, too." Sam didn't understand exactly what Al was going to do, but obviously, he had done it before. He watched as the boy rubbed a scab off his hand so it would bleed again. "This is going to be good, Joey." He pointed discreetly toward a row of cars waiting by a light. "That's the car, the blue Buick. Get ready to grab the pretzels." Before Sam could stop him, Al took off and choreographed an impact with the oncoming automobile. He darted out in front of the big car and jumped up onto the hood. Al's athletic ability made it look like a bad hit, even though Sam could see that Al did the flying on his own. There was no impact except for the books which were heavily dropped onto the hood, a nice move hiding the fact that the boy's body didn't hit. Al fell to the street, started screaming and holding his side. The pretzel vendor ran to the boy's aid. The driver flew out of the car scared half out of his life. Al caught Sam's eye as if to tell him to grab the snacks and run, so Sam did and then darted into a nearby alley to watch from a safe distance.

The driver was beside himself. "I didn't see him. Is he okay? Kid, are you okay?"

Al was acting up a storm. "I . . . I think so." He looked at the blood on his hands. "I'm bleeding." Then he grabbed his side again and groaned. "It hurts a little."

The vendor helped him stand up. Al lifted up his uniform shirt which was now dirtied from his dive into the pavement. The red bruise from gym class gave false testimony. "It's okay. It doesn't hurt too bad. I guess I just got scared. I'll be okay. The nuns at the orphanage will take care of me." He looked around. "Where are my books? I have to study. I'm going into seminary on Monday."

Sam started to laugh. Al was putting these people through the ringer and while it really wasn't very nice, it was very funny. They believed every bit of his pathetic little story.

The driver gathered the books and placed them on the car. "Are you okay? I mean, I can take you to a hospital."

"Thanks," he winced in false pain and wiped away an invisible tear, "But I'll be fine." He looked at his bleeding hands. "Do you have a handkerchief or something? If I get blood on my shirt, I'll have to pay for a new one and I don't have any money."

From the edge of the alley, Sam laughed. "Oh brother."

The driver pulled a silk pocket handkerchief from his expensive suit. "Use this." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sure it's nothing at all. I'm sorry I ran into your car."

"No, kid. Don't worry about it." He handed a twenty dollar bill over to Al. "Here. Take this. If you need to buy a new shirt that should cover it and get a few extras, too."

"Gosh, mister, that's not necessary." He refused the bill.

The man pushed it into Al's hand. "No. I want you to have it. You're going to seminary. Have some fun this weekend."

With wide eyed and completely fake astonishment Al took the bill and stared at it. "Wow. I've never had this much money in my whole life." He took his books from the car, thanked everyone for their kindness and slowly ran off with a bit of a limp. Sam was practically on the ground, unable to control his laughter. Al, a true con artist, doubled back to meet up with him. "You get the pretzels?"

"Yeah, but for twenty bucks, we could eat at the Ritz. How did you do that?"

"It's an old scam. I learned it a long time ago. You have to be pretty fast to try it. Once I wasn't fast enough and the car really hit me."

Sam knew Al's predisposition for stretching the truth. "Really?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't anything more than the bruise I got now. Give me a pretzel." Sam handed one over and Al started chewing on one end. "Man, I love hot pretzels. Too bad you can't steal mustard." Sam stared at Al and then he stared a little more and a little more. "What?"

"You're amazing. No wonder you survived Vietnam." Sam heard the slip as he said the words, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself.

"Vietnam? You actually know the name of a country in Southeast Asia? I'm impressed." More pretzel found its way in his mouth.

Sam was caught, but decided the best out was ignore the slip. "Why don't we get going home?"

"Sure, but first we got to get change for this twenty."

"Why?"

"Half of it's yours, stupid. Don't you want your ten bucks?"

"Mine? I didn't do anything."

"You stole the pretzels. Let's go by Benny's He'll break this and not ask questions."

Sam wasn't sure if Joey was getting a street education here, but he sure was. Al's childhood had been a mystery to Sam for most of their friendship and now he knew why. The boy absolutely had to cheat, lie, and steal in order to embrace life rather than simply survive it. Yet there was honor with this little thief and Al would give half the twenty to Joey, though he had taken far more of the risk.

Sam started to laugh as he recalled Al's performance for the driver. "You were terrific back there. What a story. I mean I know the orphanage was real and stuff, but going into the seminary on Monday. That was too much. Really funny."

"Not that funny, Joey. The good sisters are shipping me out. I enter seminary on Monday. Me, a priest. Go figure." In a thin weasel voice he squeaked in mock prayer, "Bless me fodder, for I has sinned. It's been a gazillion years since I thought this was worth anything." He sighed in disgust. "Damn, I don't want to go."

"Then why go?"

"They don't want me at the orphanage any more. Reverend Mother Theodora doesn't like me. She never did." He was opening up to Joey in a way he hadn't opened up to anyone in years. There was something okay about it, but he didn't know why. "She says I'm trouble. I guess she's right. I ran away a couple of times. It wasn't any worse than seminary is going to be. There was a Negro man in Chicago who really liked me. His name was Charlie Walters. They called him Black Magic, greatest pool player ever. He even beat Willie Mosconi. He taught me to shoot pool. Said I was good, too. He was a real good guy. Magic would take me in. I know it."

Al's story was matching up with Alpha's predictions. Fear of being tossed out of the orphanage and into the seminary put Al on the street. Sam couldn't tell his young friend about the future, but if he could only change his mind. "Listen, Al, maybe seminary won't be so bad. I mean, you get to stay in school. They pay for everything, don't they? And who says you got to be a priest?"

"I don't have a lot of scruples, but if you're going to do the religion thing, you should commit yourself to it. My going to the seminary would be a lie."

"You just lied big time to that guy back there and he gave you twenty bucks for it."

Somehow that didn't seem as important as lying about faith. Al wasn't going to go to seminary unless he meant to be a priest. "That's different. Come on. Benny's place is around the corner."

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Traffic was a little heavier than usual. The delay gave him time to think. After all, it wasn't his responsibility. Whatever Paul and Dave did with her after they finished was up to them. She was a hooker. The kid was good at it, too. It didn't matter she was only 13 years old. This wasn't any inexperienced neighborhood kid. Throwaways were a menace to themselves and the city. They stole, mugged people, got pregnant, putting more babies on welfare. Getting rid of them was a good citizen's obligation. He was a good citizen. His family was cared for. The little slut was a piece of nothing. He had his share of her and now Paul and Dave could do what they wanted. It didn't matter if kiddy porn and snuff films weren't his thing (he got his kicks with hands-on experiences), but there was a market for the pictures. Everyone had their own taste and since he took all the risk in getting the kids, he figured he had a right to make money in this enterprise. Street kids were nothing more than city refuge and Paul and Dave were garbage men. They took what they wanted from the trash and disposed of the rest in the most efficient manner available. A taxi cut him off. Yeah, he hated traffic like this.

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The boys left Benny's pool hall with their ten dollars. Sam stared at the crisp ten spot in his hand while Al counted out ten singles. "Why did you want singles?"

"I show up with a ten dollar bill and I'll get in trouble. Singles I can hide easier. Besides, it's nice to have a lot of bills. Then I feel rich."

"Ten dollars is a lot of money."

"Not really, but it'll get me through the weekend and I'm going to have one hell of a weekend." His eyes flashed with a brilliant idea. "Hey, O'Brien, you interested in adventure?"

Sam's stomach knotted up. "I don't know, Al. What do you have in mind?"

Al's brain was flying. He was used to getting in trouble and he had nothing to lose. "With twenty bucks we can run away for the weekend. You want to?"

When he was young, even at his most daring, Sam wasn't reckless. "Run away? I don't know. That seems kind of dangerous."

A sudden anger flew into Al. "Forget it, O'Brien. I'll go alone." He started to run off.

Sam knew that he had to get to him or Al's fast feet would get away. With a football tackle he downed his friend, books flying. The young actor grabbed his side and his face twisted with pain. Not about to fall for Al's game, Sam stood up and proudly announced, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

"Great, O'Brien. Now, help me up. I hit my side again."

"Are you serious?" Sam helped Al off the cement. "Listen, my apartment is just up the block. My dad is a doctor. He'll take care of you." This time, Al was really hurting. "I'm so sorry. My apartment is up the block. Can you get there on your own?"

Wisecracks were an easy way to hide pain. "Take a close look at me. I'm not built for football. Help me get my books."

Sam began picking up Al's books. "I'm really sorry, Al. I never meant to hurt you. It's just that I didn't want you to run away."

"Yeah, okay, Joey." Time to change the subject. "Your mom a good cook?" Sam considered last night's dinner, so he nodded. "I guess every condemned man deserves a last meal. Maybe your dad can check me out. Between gym class, the Buick and your flying leap back there," he started to finger his side, "I'm starting to hurt some."

There was concern, "Did you really get hit by that car?"

Al made his admission with reticence, "You got to get hit a little when you pull that stunt. Otherwise they catch on and you don't get the bread."

They continued on to Joey's apartment. Al hesitated. The impressive facade made him reconsider going in. Sam wondered what stopped his friend. "You coming in or what?" Al didn't make any movement. "It's just a building, Al."

"For you maybe, but . . . Never mind." He pushed past Sam. As they got to the huge covered entry, a uniformed doorman opened the front door and ushered them inside. Sam watched Al stare at the man in the red coat. "O'Brien, you need someone to open doors for you?"

The doorman pretended not to hear the comment. "It's his job, Al."

"Waiting on people too lazy to open doors? We don't have any doorman at St. Paul's."

Al was covering. He wanted a life like Joey's and from his current perspective, he would never have it. Sam wanted to tell him about the hero's welcome he would receive in 1978 after he walked on the moon and then returned his crew safely to earth despite the power failure in the command module. Time Magazine's cover story called him the premiere pilot and astronaut in America. He didn't think he could convince the boy there would be three books (all unauthorized) telling of his survival in Vietnam's most hellish prison camps. This boy wasn't ready to believe his life was going anywhere at all, so Sam just pushed Al gently into the waiting elevator and said, "I live on the sixth floor. Push the damn button, Calavicci."

They entered the O'Brien apartment. Al's swagger and bravado vanished. He shyly walked around, afraid of breaking anything. Sam called out, "Mom, we're home."

Mrs. O'Brien came into the entry way smiling. She wasn't prepared to see such a diminutive boy next to her lumbering son. "My goodness, are you really in Joey's class? You're so small."

Al hated comments about his size almost as much as comments about his curly hair and deep brown eyes. "And look at those beautiful curls and dark eyes. You are a very handsome young man even with that bruise on your face."

Through clenched teeth, Al muttered embarrassingly, "I fell yesterday, Mrs. O'Brien."

Sam decided to move onto other subjects. "Mom, Al is the smartest kid in the entire school. He's going to help me with chemistry."

"Joey thinks very highly of you, Alberto."

Sam jumped in. "It's Al, Mom. Only the priests and nuns call him Alberto. He doesn't like it very much."

Al was getting more and more uncomfortable. "It's okay, Ma'am. You can call me Alberto if you want."

Mrs. O'Brien smiled. "Around here, you're Al. Well boys, how about a snack?"

Sam and Al looked at each other conspiratorially. The hot pretzels took care of any afternoon hunger pangs. "No thanks, but can we have some root beer?"

"Sure. You can take it into your room today, Joey. Just be careful and don't spill any on your carpet. Understand?"

He gave her the obligatory home from school kiss. "Thanks, Mom. Come on, Al. The kitchen's back here." Al smiled at Mrs. O'Brien and followed Sam down the hallway. "You like root beer?" Sam knew full well adult Al's bizarre fondness for the sweet drink bordered on the silly.

Needless to say, Sam was surprised to hear Al state, "I never had any. What's in it?"

"What's in it? I don't know." He spun and stared at Al. "What do you mean you never had it before. You love root beer."

"I ought to know if I ever had it. Maybe I'll like it, but until you get me some, I won't know. What's it taste like?"

Sam had answered some very complicated questions in his life, but this one was past his brilliance. "It's . . . well . . . it's root beer. It tastes like root beer."

"With analytical skills like that, O'Brien, you're going to go far. Pour me some."

Sam filled two glasses with ice and poured out the brown foamy soft drink. He offered a glass to Al. "Okay, try it."

Suspiciously Al picked up the glass. "It looks like dark beer." Not sure what to expect he took a sip, then another. A smile of childlike joy grew on his face. "This stuff is good." He downed the drink quickly. Sam smiled too, but his smile was one of realization that he had introduced Al to his not so secret passion for root beer.

Sam poured more soda into Al's glass. "Let's go to my room. We can start studying."

"You think we can get some ice? My side is still hurting a little."

The request told Sam that Al was hurting a lot, not a little. "Maybe my Mom can take a look. You okay with that?"

"I guess. She seems nice."

"I'll take the books. You grab the root beers." They walked toward Joey's room. Once inside, Sam put the books on his bed and said, "I'll be right back. I'll go get Mom."

Al was left alone in the bedroom. He knew some boys had their own rooms, even though he never did, but this room was a candy store. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling. A real radio sat on the night table. A box in the corner held a football, a basketball, Joey's hockey stick and skates. Al's first instinct was to get angry at the unfairness of his life. It wasn't right that some kids had so much and others like him didn't, but his anger transformed pretty quickly into a more self-destructive point of view. Al figured he didn't have stuff because he didn't deserve it. He was a bad kid. Lying and stealing were everyday parts of his life. Joey's parents obviously loved him unlike Al's parents who deserted him or died because he was a bad kid. It was pretty easy to figure. Running away would be better than living down to other people's expectations. Looking around him, Al decided he would somehow get to Chicago and find Black Magic.

Sam came back in with Joey's mother. "My son says you fell today."

Al wasn't used to motherly concern. It threw him. He became shy and childlike, more like a young awkward teen than a streetwise throwaway. Sam noticed the change and his heart broke a little. Al's eyes got bigger and he answered Mrs. O'Brien. "I fell in gym class and got a black and blue mark."

"That's what Joey said. He also told me how he tackled you on the sidewalk and hurt you again."

"He didn't mean it. We were just goofing around. It was my fault."

"Well, he needs to be more careful. He's a big boy and you're . . . not so big. Can I take a look?" Al nodded. "Why don't you sit down on the bed and let me see." This lady actually seemed to care. He followed her directions and showed her the ugly mark. "Oh, my. Joey wasn't kidding. That's some bruise. When Dr. O'Brien comes home, he can take a look at it. Does it hurt much?"

Al whispered clumsily, "A little, I guess."

"Are you allergic to aspirin?"

"No, ma'am."

"I'll get you one. Joey, get one of your shirts for Al." She put her hand on Al's shoulder. "If you're like my son, you hate your uniform shirt."

"Thanks, Mrs. O'Brien, but I don't think Joey's shirts would fit me very well."

"You know I think I may still have some of his old things. I'll get the aspirin and then see what I can find. You boys start your studying." She left the boys alone.

Al looked longingly at Mrs. O'Brien. "Your mom's nice."

Sam's thoughts went to Thelma Beckett. A gentle smile warmed his memory. "Yeah, my mom's the best." He was talking as Sam now. "My mother really likes you. She says you have true courage and integrity."

"She doesn't know me." He put his shirt back on. "We're supposed to start studying. Let's get it over with. Get your chem book." 


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please do not read this story if you are easily disturbed by raw language and difficult situations for children. This story is not for the squeamish. It is based on activity that I know about from close associates. Nothing is written to be sensational, but only to bring to light a troubling situation facing many children today here in the United States. It is for mature readers only for a reason.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.

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STREET KID

Al was dressed in an old tee-shirt of Joey's. He closed the chem book and sat back in his chair, "Not bad, O'Brien, You caught on a lot faster than I thought you would."

A smile crossed Sam's lips. How he wished he could tell the teen about Quantum Leap and exactly who he was and who Al was going to be, but none of that was possible. So, instead he just said, "Thanks. You're a good teacher," and let it go.

Without any announcement, Joey's little sister Colleen barged into the room. "Mom said it's time to eat in ten minutes and you have to wash up."

Al smiled at the eight year old and said, "Thank you, Colleen."

She walked over to young Al. "Are you really an orphan?"

Sam jumped in "Colleen, shut up. That's not nice."

Al didn't mind little sisters. He had one of his own and he missed her very much. "It's okay, Joey. Yeah, I'm an orphan. I don't have any parents."

Colleen kept prying. "How come?"

Believing what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Al answered. "My father died when I was 10 and my mother, my mother sort of left."

The little girl was confused. "What do you mean left?"

Sam knew how much this stuff hurt Al and he wanted it to stop. "Colleen, shut up."

"My mother ran out on me and my sister."

Colleen kept at it. "Where's your sister?"

There was never any reason to apologize for his sister and he felt no shame in saying he had special needs. "In an institution for people who are retarded."

"Is your sister a moron?"

The line had been crossed. Al snapped, "No, and don't you ever call her that again."

"You're a moron too." then she stuck her tongue out at the boys.

Sam pushed the little girl out of the room. "She's stupid."

"Trudy's a good kid. I hate when people tease her and I'm not going to apologize for her either."

Sam wanted to find out more about Al's sister. "When did you see her last?"

"Christmas. I ran away during break and managed to get to Willowbrook and spend some time with her before I got caught. She always cries when I leave." He was faraway all of a sudden. "It's a terrible place, Joey. Her clothes are always wrinkled and dirty, and her hair, I don't think they wash her hair very much." He started to gather up his books. "The world stinks."

Sam was saddened by this boy. "I'm sorry, Al. Things will get better for you." As he said the words, Sam flashed on Al's eight years in a prison camp, on Beth leaving him, on his battle with alcohol. Eventually things would get better, but they sure weren't going to get any easier.

Al's mind's eye brought his pictures of his baby sister. "I really miss Trudy, you know."

"I can see that."

Al started shaking his head. "Why the hell am I telling you all this stuff, O'Brien? We may talk every once in awhile, but you really can't say we're buddy-buddy."

"Sometimes you have to trust people just by gut instinct. That's how I feel about you. I mean, you're a surly little runt, but I trust you."

Al smiled. "I got a right to be surly. Everyone is making decisions for my life except me."

"You talking about the seminary?"

"Yeah. I'm not going to go, Joey." For the first time, Al was really talking to a friend. There were no defense mechanisms in place. He straightforwardly declared, "I can't go to seminary. Geez, me a priest. Would you go to me for confession?" 

Remembering that he was a 16 year old boy, Sam nodded, "You'd probably be easy."

"Damn straight. I guess we have to wash up. Your mother's waiting." He got up and walked toward the door.

Sam internally debated whether or not he should speak up, but he had to. He looked at Al and met the young boy's penetrating eyes. Somehow, they looked decades older than the Admiral's. "I know you don't want to be a priest and they can't make you, but don't run away. It isn't safe out there alone."

"I've done it before and anyhow, you can't be safe all the time, Joey. Nothing good happens if you play it safe." He faced Sam. "If you expect to be anybody, you have to push the limits."

"There's a difference between pushing limits and being stupid." He heard the words before they actually came out of his mouth and he couldn't stop them even though he knew better. It was the wrong thing to say, but it had been said.

Al's defenses came back faster than the Seasbiscuit on his best day. "So you think I'm stupid."

Sam wanted to tell him what was going to happen, but the little cynic wouldn't believe him. He'd laugh it all off and that would be that. He talked to the boy as Sam would talk to him. "Just listen to me. You're real smart and street smart too, but that isn't enough. You're still . . ." Still what? Sam tried to figure out what to say, finally hitting on the obvious. "You're awfully small. It wouldn't take much to beat the crap out of you. Hell, I could do it right now if I wanted."

Anger burned in Al's eyes and his body tensed up in defense. "What the hell do you know? I can outrun you any day."

Sam tried to be confrontational. "Big deal. Try to get away from me now. We're in a closed room." It was a challenge and it could get Joey grounded for a year, but it would be worth it to save Al's life. "Go on. Try to get away from me."

The challenge was accepted and Al reached for the doorknob. Sam used his own coordination to grab the boy and worked at controlling the wiry body. Al was a fighter and even with Sam's skill in martial arts, it took every bit of his strength to contain him, but in the end, Sam won and Al was on the floor of the room, Sam straddled him, pinning his shoulders. "Al, you think you can win every fight? Well, you can't. Running away isn't the answer to everything. Sometimes you have to stay and face things. Sometimes that's the harder and better thing to do."

Years of pain, anger, and sadness all came forward. "Get the hell off me. You made your point." Sam let Al up. Al winced at the pain in his side, made even worse by Sam wrestling him to the floor. "So now I know I can't take care of myself. I guess we're even, Joey. You understand chem better and I know I'm worse off than I thought." He walked toward the desk where his books lay. "I think I'd better get back to the orphanage."

Sam took the books from Al. "No, please stay. I'm sorry. It's just that I don't want you to get hurt and I got a bad feeling about this, I mean, if you run away."

"So do I, but it doesn't matter." He really meant he didn't matter to anyone else. From the kitchen came the call for dinner. "I'm not very hungry. I'm going back to the orphanage."

"Please, my mom's expecting you and my dad still needs to take a look at the bruise," Sam realized he just jumped on the young boy, "which I think I bashed again." Al didn't want to admit that he was hurting even more than ever. Sam pleaded, "Don't go home yet."

The walls between them were up again. "You keep forgetting. I don't have a home. I have an orphanage. There's a big difference."

"Dinner's ready. I know the food here has to be better than what's waiting for you there."

"No doubt."

Sam smiled at the phrase which the Admiral used so often. It had become a habit long ago, when he was just a child. "So you'll stay?" Al sheepishly nodded. "Just one thing. Don't tell my folks I tackled you, again. I'll get grounded for a year."

"So, I got something on you. This is a good thing to know. Let's go eat."

The Imaging Chamber door opened behind Sam. "Why don't you go on in. My mom won't look at your hands, but she might check mine. I got to . . . you know." Al walked out and Sam closed the door.

St. John spoke first, "You have any new information we can explore?"

"I thought that was my question. You're the one with the computer."

"Well, Alpha doesn't have anything. How is young Master Calavicci?"

Sam felt such sadness. "St. John, we have to do something here. He needs help. I'm not sure I'm getting through to him."

"According to Alpha, he still dies. No one sees him after Dr. O'Brien drives him home. We have to stop whoever kills him. Go have dinner. I'll try to work up some scenarios for you, but I'm coming up against one dead end after another." St. John left and Sam couldn't help but think there had to be a better choice of words than "dead end."

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He hated when a girl's breasts turned out to be padding in a push up bra. There was something appealing about a pre-teen with tits. They usually hated their bigness, but that meant the humiliation they felt when you screwed them was even better. She lied about having a chest. It was all fake and his disappointment led to anger. There was only one way to take care of anger. He knew holding it in was self-destructive so he released it. She screamed and cried and his anger settled down. Dave and Paul got some good pictures. The photos would sell for big money, especially the ones where the boy raped her. He just found the kids and brought them in. They were street kids and no one cared about them. They were better off dead, so he was doing everyone a favor. Why shouldn't he make a little extra cash off the street kids?

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Dinner had finished. Al was a polite guest. At first, he reminded Sam of some kid on television, some kid named Eddie Haskell who could snowball all the parents, but who was really hell on wheels. Then he began to see that Al was simply trying to fit into the family. Dr. O'Brien came in late, as they were finishing up. Al was helping clear the dishes when he entered. Joey's mom introduced them. "Mike, this is Al Calavicci. Al, this is Dr. O'Brien."

Al held out his hand and Joey's father took it and smiled. "I've heard a lot about you from Joey. He says you're a smart young man."

"I guess I like school."

Dr. O'Brien smiled as Sam entered the room. "Good for you. Maybe some of that will rub off on my son. He could need a little more interest in school."

Sam's eyes rolled in teenaged embarrassment. "Dad, come on."

Joey's mother intervened, "Mike, before I get your dinner, would you take a look at Al. He fell in gym class today and he has a bad bruise on his side."

Al was uncomfortable with the idea of the doctor checking him out. There was nothing Dr. O'Brien could do anyhow. Sam interjected, "He fell onto the pommel on the horse. He got the wind knocked out of him. Then I guess we were playing around after school a little and I sort of tackled him and he sort of fell against a fire hydrant."

"Good job, Joe." Dr. O'Brien put a hand on Al's shoulder. "Why don't you come with me and I'll take a look at that bruise." Al was guided into Joey's room. Sam watched from the doorway. Dr. O'Brien sat on the bed, "Let's take a look, son."

"Yes, sir." Al pulled off the borrowed tee-shirt and exposed an ugly bruise that by now was purple and almost black.

"Wow. You did a good job here." He began to gently push on the area. Al held back any expression of pain. "Does that hurt?"

Al bit his lower lip. "No, sir."

"I'm not sure I believe you, Al." He pressed harder. "How about that?" A slight grimace flashed over his face. "Thought so." Another few minutes of poking and prodding gave Dr. O'Brien enough information to declare, "I think what you have here is a bruised rib. Tomorrow, start putting some warm compresses on it and the bruise will start to go away. If you start having any other trouble, get to a hospital. but I don't think that will happen. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The doctor smiled at the rigidity of the boy's manners. "You're a polite one, aren't you."

Like a fish out of water, that's how Al felt. "I guess so. I mean, yes, sir."

"Al, this isn't military school. Relax." Dr. O'Brien smiled at the boy and closed the conversation. "When you're ready to go, I'll give you a lift home. Tutor my kid, okay?"

"Yes, sir." Al smiled half-heartedly, the doctor left. "Your dad is okay. He wants us to study more." Al moved toward the books.

Sam was sort of surprised at Al's willingness to conform to his father's off the cuff remark. "I don't think he meant we have to study now. Want to watch television or something?"

Mischief suddenly reappeared in Al's eyes. "Want to go out, maybe? We're not far from Washington Square. It's only 6:30."

Sam didn't want Al out on any streets. The idea that Dr. O'Brien would drive him back to the orphanage made him very comfortable and he didn't want to jeopardize that. " Let's stay here."

"We can bankroll our ten bucks into maybe fifty at Washington Square."

This sounded like more illegal shenanigans. "How?"

"Ever hear of speed chess?"

Sam Beckett had definitely heard of speed chess and had even played the game with adult Al. In this special kind of chess, Al had the edge. In slow, deliberate games, Sam was almost always the victor, but Al was a quick aggressor and in pressure situations, like speed chess, he could outmaneuver Sam nearly every time. Joey, however, probably didn't even know how to play the game, so just to be safe he said, "What's speed chess?"

"It's when you play chess real fast. There's none of this waiting 30 minutes for someone to make a move. A whole game takes maybe a minute and a half. You can make a lot of money playing speed chess."

"You play?"

"Yeah, and I'm good. I can beat just a few of the Saturday morning regulars, but I sure can take the uptown set that makes their way into Washington Square on Friday nights."

"Could you teach me to play chess? I'm not sure if we have a set." Teaching Joey to play chess would take the rest of the evening. Sam's biggest problem would be trying to fake the fact that he already knew the game.

Joey wasn't biting and Al wanted something to do that was pure fun. "You got no sense of adventure, O'Brien. You want to stay home on a Friday night and learn how to play chess. Geez, what about girls? Let's go looking for girls." Sam almost agreed to this one. As a teen, he was shy and awkward around most people, but especially girls. Taking a lesson from young Al could make Joey's future more interesting, but he had to squelch that idea, too. Al shook his head. "My last night as a free man and I don't even get to fool around." He looked at Joey with a crooked gaze, "O'Brien, you do know about sex, don't you?"

In his head, Sam sighed "Oh, boy." Out loud he sort of pawed at the ground and mumbled, "Yeah. I know about sex and stuff."

Ammunition was thrown right at Al. By 13, young Al was, unfortunately, well versed in sex. "You still a virgin?" Sam saw the question coming and didn't know what to do. he thought the best answer was to say proudly that he still was a virgin and it didn't bother him at all. Maybe he could influence young Al to slow down. It didn't seem to work. "You don't know what you're missing, Joe. Girls are God's gift to the world. You want to go find a couple of hookers? They're everywhere and some of them don't cost much at all."

"I don't think I want to have sex with a hooker. I want to be in love with the girl."

"Yeah, well, that would be nice, but it won't ever happen for me, so I get it where and when I can. There's this girl at the orphanage who's pretty hot. Her name is Diana. If I was home, I'd be sneaking off with her. God, I hope I get laid one last time before seminary on Monday."

Thirteen year old Al's flippant attitude toward sex bothered Sam, but he was relieved to hear Al was planning on the seminary. "So you're going to go?"

"Still haven't made up my mind. I'm old enough now to make it on my own. The only thing that bothers me is leaving Trudy. If I run away, I can't go back to her for another two years. I got to be of age or my probation officer will ship me to the reformatory." Al sat down on the bed as dejected as Sam had seen him since they met. "I can't go back there, Joey. I can't go back to the orphanage. I hate it."

Joey wouldn't know what to say in a situation like this, but Sam didn't have any ideas either. He just opened his mouth and prayed the right words would come out. "You only have another couple of years there. The seminary will at least keep you in school. You have to stay in school. You're too smart to be a dropout. You know what you can do if you get an education?" Joey's suspended airplanes provided an insight for him. He gently pushed one. "I bet you could fly airplanes and space ships, too."

"Yeah, me and Flash Gordon."

Sam looked him in the eye and spoke from his own heart. "You remember this day, Calavicci. You remember that Joey O'Brien said you would fly to the moon and the whole world will call you a hero."

The look on Al's face was worth the breach in Quantum Leap protocol. Al became a boy again, a boy with dreams of a hero's future. At last he looked 13, not 40. Even though it lasted only a moment, it proved to Sam that hope was still possible for the sad, young man.

"That's imagination, O'Brien, real imagination."

"You need to remember that I have very little imagination. You're the creative one. Don't let anyone beat you down. So what if the nuns ship you to seminary? Use the education you get for what you want. From what I hear, seminaries provide real good schooling."

Al was starting to really listen. "You know, Joey, you're not as stupid as you look."

The smile on Al's face told Sam that the comment was as close to a thank you as he was going to get. "Hey, neither are you, Allllbuuuuuurrrrtoooooo." Sam had achieved something monumental. He convinced young Al Calavicci that the future was expecting his participation. All thought of running away vanished.

With a playful, devilish gleam in his eye, Al gave Sam a little push. "Don't call me Alberto."

Sam pushed back. "Yeah? So what should I call you?"

Al jumped onto the chair, put his hands on his hips like a comic book hero and declared, "Call me Michelangelo!"

"What?"

He dropped down onto the seat of the chair. "Michelangelo. It's my middle name."

Of course, Sam knew that fact, but right now, he was a 16 year old kid named Joey and Joey found the whole scene highly amusing. He was laughing so hard he could barely talk. "Michelangelo? Didn't your parents like you?" He could have hit himself for that crack.

Al shrugged, "Doesn't look like it, but what the hell, Michelangelo Calavicci is one hell of a good stage name. I think I'll be an actor. Let's see - Michelangelo Calavicci in Gone with the Wind - The Carpetbagger Years."

"Michelangelo Calavicci as Rhett Butler? Uh-uh." Sam walked over to the box of sports equipment and pulled out a basketball. "You want to shoot some hoops?" Al's eyes sparked again.

The two boys left the apartment and ended up in the alley where a hoop was suspended. For Al, it was boyish play, the kind he had experienced far too infrequently. For Sam, it was a reliving of the hours he and Al spent playing Horse under the New Mexico sky after a long day's work on Star Bright and later Quantum Leap.

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The phone was ringing relentlessly. Finally, giving into the clamor, the man answered, "Yeah?" A voice on the other end said there was a young boy available if the man wanted. "Street kid?" Once assured that no one cared, the man agreed to take delivery.

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	5. Chapter 5

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please do not read this story if you are easily disturbed by raw language and difficult situations for children. This story is not for the squeamish. It is based on activity that I know about from close associates. Nothing is written to be sensational, but only to bring to light a troubling situation facing many children today here in the United States. It is for mature readers only for a reason.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.

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STREET KID

The night was taking away the light and it was time to stop the basketball game. Sam and Al were both winded, but the smiles they wore proved they had the time of their lives. Sam held the ball over his head and looked at his buddy. "So, you ready to admit I play basketball better than you?" Al looked thoughtful. "Hey, come on. You're the brain, you're the gymnast, the actor, the artist. Let me do one thing better than you."

The grin Calavicci wore was big and bright and youthful. "Okay, O'Brien. You are a better basketball player, but I'm going to tell everyone at the seminary that you were beat by a dwarf."

"Dwarf? So you're short. Big deal." Then the seminary remark registered. "Hey, you said seminary. Does that mean you're not going to run away?"

The boys started back toward the building. "I'll let them educate me and then I'll split. Maybe I will learn to fly airplanes. I think I'd like that."

In the background Sam heard the Imaging Chamber door open. "Say, you know how to get back to the apartment, right." Al nodded. "Good. I'll meet you up there. I got to. . ."

St. John piped up, "Check the garbage cans because tomorrow's pickup day."

Sam repeated St. John's words and Al shrugged his shoulders and left. Turning to the hologram Sam excitedly said, "I think we did it. He's not going to run away. He just told me he was going to go to seminary. This is terrific. Why haven't I leaped? Not that I want to, because I'm having great time."

"Let me check." A few pokes at the electronic fruit loops and St. John's face remained stoic. "There's no change, Sam. He's still dies on Thursday."

He was shaking his head vehemently from side to side. "No. He just told me he decided on the seminary." Then a thought hit him, "But he was in summer stock. The little creep was lying. How could he do that to me?"

"Lying has been the only consistent pattern in his entire life. He's very good at it."

"Damn him. Damn him!" With desperate anger Sam took off toward the apartment determined to beat the hell out of the little liar he had just spent the best part of the day with.

He got to the living room and saw Al talking with his parents. "I want to thank both of you for your hospitality tonight. Dinner was terrific and thanks for cleaning my shirt."

Mrs. O'Brien held his hand in both of hers. "You're welcome, Al. Please come back anytime."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Dr. O'Brien looked tired. "I think we need to thank you for helping Joey with his homework. I hope some of your study habits rub off on him."

Sam walked in. "Can I talk to Al alone?"

"Just a few minutes, Joey. I have to get him back to the orphanage. It's getting late."

Grabbing the younger boy's arm, "We got to talk." Al was surprised by the strong arm tactic Sam was using, but he went along with it. When they were behind the closed door of Joey's bedroom Sam pushed Al into the chair. "Okay. Tell me the truth. Are you going to run away tonight? and don't lie to me."

The defense system Al had perfected years earlier threw itself between himself and Joey. "Where do you get off dragging me around?"

"I have to know. You have to promise me you won't run away."

"Why is my education so damn important to you? It hasn't mattered for the two years we've been in school together. Why should it matter now?"

There was nothing else Sam could do. He had to tell young Al of his fears. "Listen, I'm sorry for grabbing you, but I get these premonitions and I'm right a lot of the time. See, if you run away tonight, someone is going to try to hurt you and . . ." He didn't want to go further, but his love for this boy (and for the man he would become) made him. "and you're going to die."

"O'Brien, I'm not going to run away. I promised you that. Secondly, even if I did, I can take care of myself. No one will ever kill me. I don't care if they try to torture me, no one will kill me."

Sam wondered if Al had premonitions of his own. It sounded like he was talking about Vietnam. Where else would he be exposed to torture, but this Al was a 13 year old boy with a highly creative imagination. Taking Al's shoulders in his hands Sam looked his friend in the eye. "You promised me, right? You don't break promises, right?"

"I don't make any promise I don't intend to keep. I do have some values, believe it or not. When I give you my word, you can depend on it." Sam knew that was a true statement. Admiral Al Calavicci was a man who above all things valued the integrity of his word.

"Okay. Thanks." Sam sat on the bed emotionally exhausted. "One more thing."

"Now what?"

"Will you write to me? When I get older, I want to be able to say that I knew you. I think my kids should be able to say their dad once played basketball with a space man."

"You're the space man, Joey. Way out in space, but yeah, I'll write to you. Maybe I can come back and visit every once in awhile. Your folks seem okay. So does your creepy little sister, but I think I'd better get going now. I didn't plan on staying here this late. I think Diana might be waiting at the orphanage and while you may want to remain virginal for that once in a lifetime love, I personally think the idea is highly overrated. I'd better get some while I can, so if you'll excuse me, your dad is waiting to drive me back. Thanks, Joe. I'll write you soon." He held out his hand to Sam and they shook like grownups and then came the obligatory manly slaps on the back. Al walked out of Joey's room and left the apartment with Dr. O'Brien.

Sam prepared himself to leap, but nothing happened. Hearing the Imaging Chamber door again, Sam turned expecting to see Al, but it was still St. John.

"Sam, where's the boy? He's in trouble."

"He still dies?"

St. John was not interested in Sam's questions, only his answers. "Where is he?"

"He just left."

"Damn." St. John was angry now. "Damn!"

"What do you know that I don't?"

"Alpha figured out to a 93 probability that Master Calavicci doesn't run away. He's kidnapped by a ring of snuff films makers."

"Snuff films? What are snuff films?"

"They're pornographic movies where someone is sexually tortured to death, literally to death. That's what Alpha believes happens to him."

"Wouldn't that be in the papers?"

"Not in 1948. It was considered bad taste; therefore the cretins who make these frightful things rarely get prosecuted and even more rarely get sent to prison. The other thing is, he's an orphan, so no one really pushes to find his murderer, but Alpha thinks it knows who the killer is." He looked into Sam's eyes, "Dr. Michael O'Brien."

"Joey's father? Al's with him now."

"It looks like we fouled this one, Sam."

"We haven't blown it yet. Center in on Al and tell me where he is."

"What can you do? You're a child yourself."

"Just center on Al and come back as soon as you can."

St. John blipped out of the room and Sam ran out to Joey's mother. "Mom, where's Dad?"

"He's taking Al back to the orphanage and then he had a call. He's going to the hospital. I doubt he'll be home before one or two o'clock. Sorry, Joey."

"But Al can get home by himself."

"The orphanage is on the way and anyhow, you should have seen Al's eyes when he heard we had a Cadillac." Sam was horrified. His mother kept on talking to him. "You know, Al is a nice boy. I'm surprised that I like him so much. You'll have to ask him over again. He has better manners than your other friends." She saw the distressed look on Sam's face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm going back to my room." Sam was left alone to contemplate the enormity of St. John's findings. Not only was Al going to die, but at the hands of the man Sam introduced him to. Sam was in some way responsible for sending Al to his horrible death. His stomach began to churn when he thought of St. John's definition of a snuff film. How could people consider that entertainment? It was beyond his scope of comprehension and he was a Nobel Prize winning, certified genius. Al had always complained Sam was too book smart and not enough street smart. Sam finally decided he was grateful to have some vestige of naiveté. He paced up and back waiting for St. John.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Al sat in the front seat of the O'Brien Cadillac. He was enthralled with the big car and with the chauffeur. "You didn't have to do this, Dr. O'Brien."

"It's my pleasure." The doctor looked over at his young passenger. Al caught him looking. "So, you and Joey been friends long?"

"I guess. We both entered St. Patrick's at the same time."

"You're a little younger, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I skipped a couple of grades, so I'm two years younger than the other boys."

"Joey seems to think you're about the smartest boy at St. Pat's."

Al started feeling uneasy. There wasn't anything in the conversation that sounded out of the ordinary, but something felt wrong. He knew the streets of lower Manhattan backwards and forwards and this was not the route back to the orphanage he would have picked. "I guess I do okay." He saw the orphanage coming up, but Dr. O'Brien turned the opposite direction. "Sir, you can let me out here. It's only a block from here."

"You know, if you're as bright as Joe says, you might be interested in seeing how a hospital really works. You want to come with me to take care of that emergency?"

Al was getting a little nervous. "No, thank you. I want to go back to the orphanage. Sister Benignus is waiting for me."

"How long have you lived at the orphanage, Al?"

"Off and on since I was seven." The car traveled farther and farther away from Al's sad home. "Sir, you're going the wrong way. The orphanage is the other direction."

"Yes, well, you don't really want to go back there, do you? Your father and mother abandoned you, didn't they."

The car made its way toward South Street and the docks, an area Al knew well enough to stay away from. There were no lights and Dr. O'Brien was running all the stop signs. "Sir, the nuns are waiting for me. I told them I would be back by seven and it's almost eight now. I think you should let me out."

"Not in this neighborhood, Al. It's too dangerous down here by the docks."

"Let me out, Dr. O'Brien. I want to go home." It was the first time in his life that he referred to the orphanage as home.

"We're going to make a little stop first, Al. You don't mind, do you?"

Al was a street kid, so he knew he was in trouble. The thing he had to do now was figure how to get out of it. His heart was beating so fast he could almost hear it. The alley was completely dark. Al saw it as his opportunity. He tried to open the car door, but O'Brien reached over and grabbed his collar pulling the boy next to him. "Now, what was that all about?"

"Leave me alone. I swear I'll kill you."

O'Brien laughed. "Kill me? We're going to make a stop for a few minutes. You can go back to the orphanage right after we meet some of friends of mine."

"Please, Dr. O'Brien. Let me go. I won't say anything. I promise."

"Then stop talking now. I don't want to hear you say anything. Understand?" Al nodded. "You are bright, aren't you?"

The car continued weaving its way through alleys and back streets. Dr. O'Brien put his arm around Al. He tried to push the offender away, but O'Brien was strong and obviously had practice keeping unsuspecting street kids in his car, "Come on, Dr. O'Brien. I'm more trouble than I'm worth. You don't want me."

"We just have one little stop to make." He pulled in front of a garage door and honked the horn, "Here we are." Al said a real prayer for the first time in years. Inside the garage, two men met the car. They moved toward opposite doors barring any possible escape route. One man opened a door and even though every exit was blocked, Al made an attempt at running. The other new man caught him easily and held the slender boy as O'Brien opened a bottle, poured some liquid on a cloth and covered Al's face. In a few seconds, the boy was unconscious. "Get the little bastard inside."

The man who caught Al picked him up. A door was opened and they all disappeared through it. No one saw a thing except St. John who had finally centered on Al as he was being chloroformed. The observer whispered into the handlink. "Alpha, get this address and then center me on Sam." 


	6. Chapter 6

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please do not read this story if you are easily disturbed by raw language and difficult situations for children. This story is not for the squeamish. It is based on activity that I know about from close associates. Nothing is written to be sensational, but only to bring to light a troubling situation facing many children today here in the United States. It is for mature readers only for a reason.

This chapter has the most disturbing images yet. Please, again I ask you not to read if the concepts presented in the previous chapter make you uncomfortable. I assure you, it gets more graphic in this chapter.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

STREET KID

Young Al was in the middle of a nightmare he never could have imagined. Unconscious and drugged, Dr. O'Brien stripped the boy and put tight iron shackles around his wrists and ankles. When Al began to awake, the doctor said, "You do what we say and you'll get out of this alive, Understand?"

Al planned on playing the game until he could find a way out. "Yes, sir."

"Still the polite young man. Well, drop the act." He grabbed Al's throat and squeezed hard. "You're going to do what you're told. No one gives a damn about you." O'Brien's hand relaxed just a bit and Al saw another child, a girl even younger than himself trembling in the corner. Like Al, she was scared, bruised and bleeding. With twisted sarcasm Joey's father continued, "So, big man, you get to fuck her. It's her first bleed. Quite an honor, don't you think?"

With every bit of determination he had, Al spit in O'Brien's face. The doctor backhanded him with a closed fist. Al's knees buckled, but the clenched hand around his throat kept him from falling. From across the room Dave called out, "Hey, we need him conscious."

"Shut up, Dave. He spit on me."

Dave answered. "Save it till we don't need him any more."

Paul had the girl at the other side of the room. "So bring the little moron over here. This piece of ass can't wait, can you?"

The girl was terrified, but she said only what they wanted to hear. "I can't wait," was stuttered out in a voice belonging to far too young a child. O'Brien dragged Al to Paul. There was a platform in the corner designed for torture and terror.

"See? She wants you." Al was thrown next to her. The shackle around his left ankle was locked into a chain imbedded in the platform. "Dave, get the camera ready. We have to work fast." He traced the nipple on the little girl's undeveloped chest. "Pretty little whore, isn't she?"

Al wasn't giving in to evil. "You shut up about her. Leave her alone."

A bare-chested Paul made his way to Al. "I am going to leave her alone. See, you get to rape her and rape her and rape her until we tell you to stop."

Al's sense of right and wrong was unimpeachable. "I won't touch her."

Paul moved over to the side of the room and picked up a short metal rod. He carried it back to the platform. "You want to bet?" Paul shoved the stick into Al's gut and it fired off an electrical shock. The pain from the cattle prod was beyond belief. The boy flew backward until the chain kept him from going further.

The little girl spoke to Al. "Just do what he says and they'll let us go."

"Now see? Pussy is smart." Paul turned around, "Dave, you ready?"

Dave was playing with a camera. "Yeah. O'Brien, turn on the lights." Hot film lights were lit almost blinding the two children. "Get your mask, Paul."

Paul pulled an executioner's mask over his face and picked up a buggy whip. "I'm ready."

The whip found its way to Al's back dozen times, drawing blood with each blow. The camera captured each slice across the boy's body. O'Brien yelled instructions to him. The tears Al wanted to shed would not leave his eyes. He stood his ground accepting the brutal buggy whip and the cattle prod until pain and terror forced the young boy to take the girl in his hands and do the unthinkable. Then he did the unthinkable again. Then he stopped thinking and just did it.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sam was pacing. Too much time had gone by. Finally he heard the sound he had been waiting for. "Where is he?"

"At the South Street Import Company. It's a waterfront warehouse about a mile from here. It's a bit hard to find. I'll have to go with you. You'll never find it alone."

"Give me the address. I got to call the police." St. John held up the handlink. Sam quickly memorized the location and ran out to the hallway to the phone. He picked it up and dialed 911.

St. John corrected him, "No, there was no 911 in 1948. Dial the operator and tell them you have a police and medical emergency."

He dialed the operator and waited again until someone answered. "I have a police and medical emergency. Please hurry." Joey's mother overheard her son on the phone and came to listen in. Sam didn't hear her standing at the end of the hall. "My name is Joseph O'Brien. My father kidnapped my friend Albert Calavicci and took him to the South Street Import Company Warehouse on . . ." His mother grabbed the phone from his hands and slammed the phone down.

She slapped him hard. "How dare you?"

Sam backed away. There was no time to be gentle with her. Al's life was on the line. "Dad's involved with child pornography. He's got Al and if we don't help, then Al will die. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. I have to call the police."

"Get to your room right now." Sam didn't move a muscle. "Now!" and she approached him again, her hand readied to hit.

"No." Sam pushed past her and ran out of the apartment.

St. John met him outside. "You have a bicycle in the garage. You'll need it."

Sam found a bicycle, but he wasn't sure it was Joey's. He didn't care. He took off following the directions St. John was continuously giving him. In ten minutes, they were outside the dark warehouse. "He's in there?"

"Yes, Sam, but I don't know what you can do. There are three grown men in there who will beat you just as they are beating him."

"O'Brien wouldn't hurt his own kid."

"To keep his secret? Of course, he would. You must find a policeman."

They were in the middle of nowhere. Sam looked around. "Where? It's up to me and Al to get out of this."

St. John guided Sam into the warehouse and toward the basement rooms. "Sam, you cannot do this alone,"

"I don't have a choice."

"Alpha says there's a 85 probability that you and Master Calavicci are both found dead. You can't do this, Sam. You have to let him die."

Sam stared at the observer in this reality. "Al wouldn't let me leave a 13 year old boy to get tortured and killed. Now, get me in there."

"Sam, please, don't do this."

"Point me in the right direction or I'll go it alone!"

St. John was considerably uncomfortable. "Yes, I'll get you in, but you should know they have a young girl in there too. She's, she's . . . I can't even say it."

They wound their way down the two floors. From behind a closed door, Sam could hear ugly sounds. By the time Sam was able to peek in from the hallway the two children were bloodied and in terrible pain. Paul held a cruel looking knife at the girl's chest. "Let's slice off a nipple." With every ounce of strength he had, Al hit his tormenter and tried to turn the knife onto Paul, but he only succeeded in getting the knife put to his own neck.

Sam burst into the room "No!" Paul was startled and the knife slipped into the boy. Al put his hands to his bleeding throat.

Sam was very glad now that Joey was a big boy. Using the boy's weight and his own knowledge of martial arts he could ward off the three grown men. His father was easy. A quick hard kick to the crotch had him doubled over. Dave was a little harder, but the fight ended up with a Beckett win. He turned to Al and saw the boy making a valiant attempt to hold Paul at bay, but Al was pumping out blood and incredibly small compared to the adult trying to kill him.

Al's only advantages were speed and agility and he used them. If his leg hadn't been tethered, he would have escaped, but he was chained to the platform with nowhere to go. He moved toward the little girl to become her protector. Paul had the knife in his hand ready to strike. Al growled through bleeding vocal chords, "You touch her and I'll kill you." The villain struck with the weapon. Al pushed the blade away with his arm. The slash was deep, completely to the bone and the agony on Al's face was all too real.

St. John stood to the side and though quite willing to help, being a hologram, he had no substance. All he could do was flash scenario after scenario through Alpha. Finally he called out to Sam, "Make a lot of noise, Sam. The police are responding to your phone call. They're in the building, but they won't find you unless you start yelling! Tell the children to yell!"

Sam was on his way to help Al. "Start screaming, little girl! The police are upstairs! Scream as loud as you can!" With a few quick blows from Sam, Paul dropped his knife. The little girl screamed louder than Sam thought possible. Al was now down on the platform, bleeding fiercely from the cut arm. Sam dropped to Al's side, "Hang on, Al. The cops are here." By now, the boy was near unconscious and bleeding to death. The screams of the little girl continued and within seconds two of New York's finest burst into the room They weren't prepared for what met them. This kind of complete evil appalled their senses and the three adults were taken into custody.

Sam took a quick look at the little girl. Her wounds were not life threatening. Al, on the other hand, was pumping out blood from an artery in his arm and the knife wound in his throat kept him from breathing adequately. The 13 year old never looked younger or more vulnerable than he did when Sam tied a tourniquet around the damaged arm. Al's eyes were full of more fear than Sam had ever seen in anyone. "I'm so sorry, Al. I'm so sorry. We're going to get you to a hospital and you'll be okay." He looked for St. John, but he was gone.

Off to the side of the room stood a man in a waist length red and black jacket. The look of total disbelief on his face needed no words. He put a hand to his head to try and push the pain away, but it was useless. Sam couldn't leave the young boy's side to attend to the older version of the same whose presence gave testimony to success in this inhuman leap.

Sam sat by young Al until the ambulance arrived and the boy was loaded up for the trip to the hospital. The police wanted Sam to go with them, but he pleaded, "Please, I need a few minutes alone. I'm going to go over there for a few minutes, okay."

After what they had seen, they could allow almost anything from the 16-year-old hero in front of them. "Go ahead, kid. You let us know when you feel up to going downtown."

"Thank you." Sam caught the Observer's eye and he met Sam in a dark corner. "Good God, Al. I never thought I'd see you again."

"Again? What are you talking about?"

Sam wasn't sure what to say. This Al had only recently been born. "I don't know. Oh, Al, why didn't you ever tell me about this?" He finally noticed how bloodied he was from young Al's wounds and that the older visage of the same was getting more tense.

"It's not a particularly shining moment in my life."

The gravelly sound in the Admiral's voice now made a lot more sense. Even cigar smoking couldn't create the unique quality of that voice. "He cut a vocal fold, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he nicked it. Never did get over that completely. That's why I growl some. What I can't figure is why you're here. This is the way it all happened in the original history."

He didn't know what to say, but there was no getting around it. When in doubt, go with the truth. "No, Al. In the original history, you died." The Admiral looked confused. Sam continued, "You died and someone else was the Observer. I'm sorry I didn't find out what was going on early enough to keep you from being hurt, but at least now, you survive."

He input a scenario to Ziggy. "The girl lived."

"Who was she, Al?"

"I never found out."

"What about the trial?"

"There was no trial. They plea-bargained down to misdemeanors and were out of jail in a few months." Sam's mouth hung open. "Sam, I had no one. I can only assume the girl didn't either. No one cared, Sam. This is what can happen when no one cares."

"What about Joey?"

"I don't even need Ziggy to tell you about him. His father ran out on the family which was a blessing as far I'm concerned. Joey ended up in the seminary and became a priest." With a sadness Al reserved only for a trusted few he said, "He helped a lot of people. Worked with street kids. He was a good one, too. He died last year. Some pusher wasn't happy about Joey cleaning up the old neighborhood, so he had Joe killed."

"You stayed in touch with him, then."

"He, I mean you, saved my life. Sure I stayed in touch. You owe a guy like that." Things began to make some sense to the Admiral. "No wonder he never talked about this. He wasn't here."

"Yes, he was. On some level, I know the all the people I leap into. If Joey had the information I had, he would have done the same thing."

"He used to tell me that I was going to fly to the moon and I thought he was nuts. Right after his father ran off, he told me he thought there would be a ticker tape parade for me in Manhattan someday and he was right. In fact, he was in the car with me after the shuttle mission that went berserk." The Observer turned away.

Sam knew his friend well enough to know what was wrong. "Al, I can't begin to understand what going through this means to you. It has to be one of the most horrible things a person can survive, but you did it. I'm sorry about what happened here. I can't change that, but I'm not sorry I found out. It helps me know you better and admire you even more."

"Sam, all I did is survive and that's enough. Save admiration for something victorious. There was no victory here. I'm sorry you had to see this. It's not a part of my life I share with people."

"'People?' I'm not just 'people,' am I?"

Turning back to Sam, Al immediately said, "Of course not. I thought I had all this buried so deep it could never hurt me again and now look. It's over 50 years later and my stomach is tied up into knots so tight I feel like ralphing. I don't want to talk about this any more. It must be time for you to leap."

Trying to determine if he felt the tingle of leaping, Sam had to shake his head. "No. I'm not done here yet. I'm not ready to leap. What else needs doing? Ask Ziggy."

A few seconds of playing with the handlink and Al was muttering, "This is ridiculous. You haven't leaped because I'm supposed to go see myself at the hospital. Ziggy says I got to face what happened here. This is stupid."

"It makes sense, Al. If you haven't dealt with what happened, then maybe you need come to grips with it."

"But I can't do anything for him. I'm a hologram. He won't even be able to see me."

"Have Ziggy center you on you. I've got to go with the police before they think I'm nuts over here talking to myself." Al didn't move. "I probably won't leap until you're done. Go on."

He punched in a few symbols and mumbled, "Ziggy, center me on the kid." A few seconds later, Al materialized in a hospital room. Frenzied doctors and nurses were inserting IVs and trying to remove the shackles still surrounding young Al's wrists. One of the nurses took the iron in her hand and said, "I don't know how to get this off him. These are locked on. God, what kind of sickos had this boy? We'll have to get the cops in here to open these."

Though no one knew he was there, Al stood off to the side, out of the way. He could see his young self now awake, trying to suppress the total agony his battered body was feeling. The Admiral knew the boy was being tough, but he also knew that it would be better for the boy if he let go of the facade and let people care for him. He was able to meet the boy's eyes and something connected. Young Al knew his adult self was there. The boy whispered, "You're me."

The doctors looked at each other. One declared, "He's hallucinating. Get that blood typed now. He's dying."

The scene turned into slow motion as Al approached the hurt child. "Yeah, kid. I'm you. Disappointed, huh."

"I didn't think I'd live to be old."

The Admiral laughed, "You got a smart mouth kid." The boy before him was a separate person. He could barely recognize the child he had once been. "Your body is going to heal, but I got to tell you, kid, you're making life difficult for yourself, for me by not trusting people. I know how it's going to be for you if you don't give yourself a chance to get close to anyone. It's a damn lonely life and you got a quick mouth. No one will catch onto how lonely you are."

His young version was on the defensive. "I don't need anyone."

"Well, you're wrong. Believe it or not, you're really wrong. This is the most wrong you'll ever be. All the stealing and lying and cheating you've ever done doesn't begin to measure up to how wrong you are right now. You need someone who cares."

"Trudy's in the institution."

"Then go get her. When you're better, you make sure you find a way to get her out of there. You need her to love and to love you." Al threw his head back. "God, why didn't I ever think of this before?" He leaned over looking directly into the injured child's eyes. "Listen to me, kid. You need to have Trudy with you. She's the one person who has always loved you and always will."

"It hurts so bad." Only the Admiral knew that the boy's words had nothing to do with the injuries to his body. It was his soul that ached.

"Trust me. The hurt will only get worse if you don't try. At least you got to try to get Trudy. It's important to you and will be forever."

"I'll try."

"Promise me, kid. Remember, if you promise me, you're making a promise to yourself and those are the most important ones you'll ever make."

"I promise." The boy's eyes closed and he fell unconscious which for his broken body was a blessing.

Al pulled out the handlink and asked for input on his young self s future. What the screen showed him almost knocked him off his feet. "Oh, God." He wanted to share the news with the boy, but unconsciousness overwhelmed the teen and contact was lost. "Ziggy, are you sure about this?" The handlink squealed. "Center me on Sam." He zapped out of the ER and was back at the police station.

Sam was sitting in a bare room wearing a clean tee-shirt and pants. A police sergeant was with him. "Well, son, you did something tonight that was very brave. I know it was hard, but you did the right thing."

The pep talk was nice and Joey probably needed it, but he wasn't Joey and right now he wanted to talk to Al who had just blipped in. "Sergeant, I'd like to be alone while I wait for my mother, okay?" The sergeant smiled, nodded and left. "Al, how did it go?"

"I know why you leaped in here, Sam. It wasn't to save me."

"The little girl?"

"No, but she's okay, too. She gets placed in a good foster home."

"Al, something I did has to be the reason this happened to you. What did I do?"

"In your last leap, remember that car you kept from getting run off the road?" Sam nodded. "Yeah, well, it was O'Brien's car. Since the old man didn't die in the accident, he got to keep up with his hobby."

Sam suddenly became angry at himself. "Damn. It's my fault. Saving him did this to you."

"And it saved three innocent people's lives. Listen, you can't leap yet. I'll be back in a minute. Promise me, you won't leap." He disappeared from the room leaving Sam alone.

"Al?" The leaper had no idea what was happening. He let out an exasperated sigh. "You're making me crazy." He smiled and silently said, "But at least you're alive to do it. I wonder whatever happened to that English guy."

The Imaging Chamber door opened again and Al returned to Sam's side. "I got to talk to me in the hospital. Somehow, the kid saw and heard me. Maybe like Maggie did just before she died." A realization hit him, "Shit, I must have been almost dead. Anyway, I told him. I told me he had to find someone to trust. He said Trudy was the only one and I told him, Sam, I told him to do what I wished I always had done. There was a nurse at the hospital who took me in. A wonderful woman. I was able to convince her that Trudy needed to be with me and we got her out of Willowbrook, Sam." He gestured to the wall, "Come here, honey." Al put his hand out and someone grabbed onto him. Even though she had Down syndrome there was no mistaking her beautiful Calavicci brown eyes and curly dark hair. "Sam, I'd like you to meet Trudy."

The younger sister Al lost so many years before was alive, well and wearing a PQL food service uniform. Al whispered to her, "He's over there," and he pointed. She smiled and waved at Sam. Sam waved back, "Hi, Trudy. You look beautiful."

Al smiled at his sister, "He said you look beautiful." Trudy put an embarrassed, but pleased hand up to her face. "She is beautiful, isn't she, Sam? So very, very beautiful."

Sam was flying in the clouds. This hell of a leap had the best possible outcome. Grinning from ear to ear, the glow in his heart was overtaken by the glow of blue leap light. 


End file.
